Homecoming
by Ragua
Summary: Tucker family reunion causes less trouble for T'Pol than one would expect. It stresses Trip out, though. No nookie for that boy.
1. Comforts of Home

Title: Homecoming  
Author: Ragua  
Date: May 29, 2004  
Rating: PG-13 (Language)  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Paramount. I get no   
money—just havin' a little fun.  
Summary: Tucker family reunion causes less trouble for T'Pol than one would expect. It does stress Trip out, though. No nookie for that boy.  
Author's notes: Semi-sequel to   
Archive: Sure, why not. Just let me know****

HomecomingWhere we love is home,  
Home that our feet may leave,  
But not our hearts.  
—Oliver Wendell Holmes  
  
**Chapter 1: Comforts of Home**  
  
After your last transmission, I decided to come out and escort _Enterprise_ home personally. Admiral Forrest couldn't stop smiling.  
  
It's an honor and a pleasure, Admiral, Jonathan Archer answered. And a relief. If you have any extra techs or engineers, that would be even better.   
  
Jon, we've got any kind of personnel you might need, Forrest beamed. We've even got a couple of extra special guests who demanded to be part of the welcoming committee!  
  
Archer grimaced. They aren't Vulcans, are they? He knew it was petty of him, but he couldn't help but feel slightly bitter about the Vulcans' lack of help during the entire Xindi crisis.  
  
Forrest laughed. No, they're definitely not Vulcans! You could probably say they're the complete opposite! Still chuckling, the admiral signed off, leaving Captain Archer confused, but curious.  
  
The opposite of Vulcans? Andorians, maybe?  
  
#####  
  
Uncertain just how important the special guests might be, the captain requested the presence of his entire bridge staff at the airlock meeting. If they _were_ Andorians, then a show of strength might not be such a bad idea. It certainly couldn't hurt to have his Chief of Security present.  
  
Admiral Forrest barreled out of the airlock as soon as the door was open. Captain Archer! For one horrifying moment, Archer thought that the admiral was going to hug him. Forrest, however, satisfied himself with an enthusiastic handshake, pumping the captain's arm so vigorously that Archer felt his shoulder ache. Before he could return the admiral's greeting, one of the people who had followed Forrest out of the airlock fastened onto him like a leech.  
  
The person was hugging him so tightly that Archer was sure he heard his ribs creak, but he didn't care. Once he figured out the identity of his assailant, he returned the hug with equal enthusiasm.  
  
Mrs. Tucker! Damn! The woman could hug like nobody's business. Trip's mom should have been a wrestler. It had been a long time since anyone had hugged him like this. Hell, he couldn't _remember_ the last time he had been hugged like this! It felt good.  
  
Finally, she held him out at arms length and looked up into his face, worried. Oh honey, you look so tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?  
  
Not lately, Archer admitted. But I think that we'll probably be getting a bit of time of to rest up soon. Right, Admiral? Forrest, who had been standing back and enjoying the scene, nodded, smiling indulgently.  
  
Now a lanky man, who had wisely avoided getting between Mrs. Tucker her dispensation of affection, stepped forward with his hand out. Jon. You did real good out here.  
  
Archer took the man's hand and smiled. Thanks, Mr. Tucker. He glanced around at his staff, who were looking variously amused, curious, or—in T'Pol's case—stoic. Let me introduce you to our bridge officers. Lieutenant Reed, our Arm—  
  
Before the captain could finish, Malcolm was caught in Mrs. Tucker's viselike grip. Reed, shocked by the familiarity, patted her back tentatively and glanced at his crewmates for help. T'Pol's expression did not change, but Hoshi and Travis smirked openly at his predicament.  
  
After what seemed an eternity to the staid armory officer, Mrs. Tucker released him. Malcolm, sweetie, you're so thin! she admonished, patting his cheek. But I've got a pineapple upside-down cake that should take care of that!  
  
She fired up the oven as soon as we got the go-ahead to join the admiral's welcoming party, Mr. Tucker added drolly.  
  
Mrs. Tucker nodded her agreement. Yes, we brought something for everybody! She seemed to require no further introductions. Strawberry shortcake for you, honey, she told Travis as she gave him her standard issue, bone-cracking hug. And not that nasty nutrapack stuff, either. That's just wrong, young man. Her eyes narrowed at the thought of food.  
  
Yes, ma'am! Travis agreed hastily, not wanting to endanger his care package with a differing opinion.  
  
Hoshi's care package was her favorite: pizza from Fiorella's. And a good thing we brought two of them, Mrs. Tucker opined, after crushing the breath out of the Communications Officer. You're just a little bit of a thing!  
  
Mrs. Tucker was moving toward Enterprise's lone Vulcan officer when her husband intercepted her. He had been traveling unobtrusively in her wake, shaking the hand of each person in turn after his wife had moved on to her next victim. Now he reached out and took her by the elbow as she advanced on T'Pol.  
  
Sugar, you know Vulcans don't like to be touched, he chided gently. Mrs. Tucker did know this, apparently, and stopped short, appalled at her near brush with bad manners. Mr. Tucker faced T'Pol and held up his right hand, but the Vulcan salute eluded him. There was a brief interlude as he wrestled with his fingers, trying to force them into the appropriate position.  
  
Definite family resemblance, Malcolm deadpanned, _sotto voce_, to Hoshi and Travis, as they watched Trip's father fight a losing battle. Finally, Mr. Tucker gave up, to the relief of all the humans, who could not have held in their laughter for much longer. Even his wife was biting her lips and turning pink with suppressed amusement.  
  
he said lamely, looking from his intransigent hand to T'Pol, You know what it's s'posed ta look like. Live long and prosper, Miss T'Pol.  
  
T'Pol, the only bridge officer who had maintained a straight face during Mr. Tucker's digital contortions, held up her own hand in a flawless salute. Peace and long life, Mr. Tucker, Mrs. Tucker. She inclined her head solemnly, acknowledging each of them in turn. Commander Tucker will be very pleased to learn of your visit.  
  
As if waiting for this cue, Trip's parents turned their heads in unison to Captain Archer. Jonathan needed no prodding. I visited Trip in sickbay not too long before you arrived, so he's probably sleeping now. But we can definitely go and check in. You can get the latest update from Doctor Phlox. He looked at his bridge officers. Travis, why don't you and Hoshi stow Mr. and Mrs. Tucker's gear in Trip's quarters.  
  
The admiral knew how to exit gracefully. Maybe while you're in sickbay, Lieutenant Reed can give me a tour of the ship and an update of your status.  
  
Sounds like a plan, Archer responded, grateful to Forrest for his sensitive handling of the situation. He glanced at T'Pol. What definition of family should he use for this reunion? Sub-Commander, why don't you come with us. You can fill Mr. and Mrs. Tucker in on all Trip's heroics in your encounter with the sphere builders.  
  
Of course, Captain, T'Pol agreed. Mr. Tucker's eyes lit up at the captain's praise. T'Pol attempted to do his human imagination justice as she recounted the tale during the journey to sickbay. Mrs. Tucker remained silent, but she eyed the Vulcan speculatively.  
  
#####  
  
Doctor Phlox, a devoted family man himself, was delighted to meet Commander Tucker's parents. He was equally adamant, however, that his patient not be wakened. Phlox explained Trip's condition to his parents in professional detail, and gently but firmly stated that he would contact them as soon as their son awoke. Mrs. Tucker did not argue the decision, but Mr. Tucker tried an end run around Phlox's prohibitions.  
  
Could we at least see him? We'll keep quiet, he assured Phlox, although it was his wife he looked to for confirmation. Mrs. Tucker nodded, first at her husband, and then at Phlox. The doctor sighed and led them to a curtained off section of sickbay. Archer and T'Pol followed at a discreet distance. Neither could see Trip, but even if he had been visible from where they stood, the intensity of his parents' reaction would have made looking elsewhere impossible.  
  
Mrs. Tucker made an instinctive move forward, but quickly controlled herself. Her hands rose swiftly to her face, as if trying to hold in any sound she might make. Her husband stood behind her, grasping her shoulders, but whether it was to offer support to his wife or to keep himself on his feet was uncertain. T'Pol remembered her initial view of Commander Tucker after the explosion and tried to imagine how much worse the sight must be for his parents.  
  
Mr. Tucker slowly began to back away, drawing his wife with him. She turned in his grasp and put her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. He returned the embrace fiercely, never taking his horrified eyes off his son. Phlox drew the curtain back around his patient, then attempted to assuage their fears. Commander Tucker has improved a great deal in the last two weeks. I really must assure you that his condition is not as bad as it appears.  
  
That's not saying a hell of a lot, Doc, Mr. Tucker lashed out, 'cause it looks pretty damned bad!  
  
Phlox lowered his eyes and wisely said nothing, but Mrs. Tucker took exception to her husband's language. Charles Tucker Jr., watch that mouth! she snapped.  
  
Mr. Tucker looked sulky, but also slightly abashed. Sorry, hon. He hugged her tighter and stared at the ground. Sorry, Doc.  
  
Captain Archer cleared his throat. Maybe we can go to the mess and have some tea or something, while we wait for Trip to wake up, he suggested. Mr. Tucker shot the captain a disgusted look, so reminiscent of his son that Jonathan smiled. Or maybe we can have something a little more...substantial. This was apparently more to Mr. Tucker's liking, and he nodded approvingly. Their small party silently left sickbay.  
  
#####  
  
Jonathan and Mr. Tucker were well into their third glass of bourbon when Phlox hailed the captain over the comm. Commander Tucker is awake and ready to receive visitors, Captain, Phlox's jovial voice announced over the speaker.  
  
Understood, Doctor, Archer acknowledged. You didn't spoil the surprise, did you?  
  
I most certainly did not, Phlox huffed, affronted by the accusation.  
  
Archer grinned at Trip's parents. We're on our way.  
  
T'Pol and the captain were hard-pressed to keep up with the Tuckers on their way to sickbay. For a couple pushing 70, they were remarkably speedy. Still, Archer managed to jump ahead of them as the group entered sickbay. He could not stop grinning as he strode to the partition and peeked around it.  
  
Hey, Cap'n, Trip's voice, still gravelly from his injuries, was barely audible.  
  
Hey, Trip, Archer greeted him. There are a couple of dignitaries who were really anxious to see you. I hope you don't mind that T'Pol and I brought them straight down. T'Pol had edged up to Archer's right so that Trip's parents might remain obscured until the last minute.   
  
Trip cocked his head at them, puzzled but curious. No, not at all, but— he drew his breath in a gasp as his father and mother appeared from behind Archer and T'Pol. At first, Trip was unable to form any words except for a startled, high-pitched Then, in a cracked voice, words which Jonathan Archer was positive had not come out of his mouth in more than 25 years: and finally   
  
Mrs. Tucker gently took his face between her hands and kissed his forehead, just above his remaining eyebrow. With infinite tenderness, she then pressed her cheek against his unbandaged one. Trip's good arm flopped around on the bed as he tried unsuccessfully to put it around his mother. Deftly, she ducked her head so that he could manage the embrace. Mr. Tucker covered his son's hand with his own, helping maintain the hug. He smiled down at Trip over his wife's shoulder.   
  
If the captain knew the Tuckers, tears were sure to be flowing soon. He was having difficulty swallowing the ache that rose in his own throat as he backed away from the scene. Even T'Pol looked suspiciously glassy-eyed as she followed his example, leaving Trip and his parents to their privacy.  
  
#####  
  
T'Pol attempted to focus on the small talk between the doctor and Captain Archer as they sat waiting the allotted time for the visit to end. Unfortunately, her superior hearing made the other conversation taking place in sickbay difficult to ignore. It certainly interested her more than Phlox's description of the mating habits of his Pyrithian bat.  
  
Mrs. Tucker seemed to be focusing on the mundane as a coping mechanism. Oh baby, your pretty hair.  
  
It'll grow back, Mom. It'll look fine, her son promised her. Everything's gonna be fine.  
  
T'Pol could hear nothing from Mr. Tucker, but she concluded that he must be weeping from his son's next words.  
  
Dad, stop it, Trip pleaded. I'm okay. Don't do that. Phlox says I'm gonna be fine. The delivery of the reassurances, in a voice hoarse from inhalation of warp plasma residue, seemed to belie the words. The reassurances certainly did not serve their intended purpose, as sounds of distress and concern continued to emanate from behind the partition.  
  
T'Pol could endure it no longer. She stood up abruptly, surprising Archer and Phlox. It appears that my presence is no longer required here, Captain, she explained. With your permission, I will return the bridge. She began to move toward the exit even before the captain had acquiesced. He followed her.  
  
Is all the emotion, he glanced at the partition, bothering you? At one time, his question would have been snide. Now it merely indicated concern.  
  
T'Pol, surprised that he was so perceptive, gave an honest response. In part. However, Commander Tucker's reunion with his parents has made me realize that it has been some time since I had contact with my own family. It is...disconcerting.  
  
Archer's shocked face told her that this was the last response he had expected. Maybe you should just skip the bridge and go write to them. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he added, smiling, Consider it an order.  
  
T'Pol nodded. she replied meekly. And with that, she exited sickbay, leaving the captain shaking his head in wonder. 


	2. Care Packages and Other Comestibles

Title: Homecoming  
Author: Ragua  
Date: May 29, 2004  
Rating: PG-13 (Language)  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Paramount. I get no   
money—just havin' a little fun.  
Summary: Tucker family reunion causes less trouble for T'Pol than one would expect. It does stress Trip out, though. No nookie for that boy.  
Author's notes: Semi-sequel to   
Archive: Sure, why not. Just let me know****

HomecomingWhere we love is home,  
Home that our feet may leave,  
But not our hearts.  
—Oliver Wendell Holmes  
  
**Chapter 2: Care Packages and Other Comestibles**  
  
I can't believe that you already ate both of those pizzas! Malcolm Reed reproached Hoshi Sato. And by yourself! At least Travis and I shared ours! Travis gave Hoshi an offended look as he nodded his agreement with Malcolm's accusations. The three were sitting together in the mess hall two days after the Tuckers' arrival, comparing notes on their care packages.   
  
Hey, Mrs. Tucker said they were both for me, and I took her at her word, Hoshi defended herself. If you guys had said something earlier, I'd have shared. But do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had decent pizza? And from Fiorella's? She shook her head. For a while there, I thought I'd never be eating pizza again.  
  
At this bald statement, Travis and Malcolm backed off. The trio sat silently for a moment, contemplating the dire circumstances they had faced less than a month earlier. Travis made an effort to lighten the mood by calling out to T'Pol, who had just entered the mess.  
  
Hey, Sub-Commander, we were just talking about the care packages Mrs. Tucker brought for us. T'Pol accepted the unspoken invitation and gracefully joined them at the table. What did you get? Travis asked.  
  
T'Pol took a spoonful of plomeek broth before responding. The commander's parents presented me with an assortment of herb teas. T'Pol took another sip, unaware of the smug looks exchanged by her table companions, who obviously felt that their gifts had been far superior to hers.  
  
Commander Tucker sure must write detailed letters, Travis said. I can't believe that they knew what all our favorites were!  
  
And then went to the trouble to secure and transport them here. Malcolm, ever the tactical officer, was most impressed by the logistical effort involved.  
  
That's just how they are, Captain Archer had crept up on their group, unnoticed. It's probably against Mrs. Tucker's religion to show up anywhere empty-handed! he joked. Then, as he noticed Sato and Mayweather scooting together to make room at the table, No, don't worry. I just came in for a cup of coffee. He turned to T'Pol. When you're finished with breakfast, Sub-Commander, Admiral Forrest had some questions about the scientific data we collected in the Expanse. Command Center in an hour?  
  
Of course, Captain, T'Pol responded.  
  
As Archer moved away, Hoshi called after him. What did they bring you, Sir?  
  
Archer grinned. Two bottles of 12-year-old scotch! he gloated as he exited the mess hall. Malcolm, Hoshi, and Travis exchanged sour looks. Suddenly their care packages seemed no better than T'Pol's tea.  
  
Reed muttered under his breath.  
  
#####  
  
Whaddya think of my folks, T'Pol? Trip was propped up on the bio-bed with a tray table in front of him. Phlox had just brought over some kind of electrolyte nutrient solution. The stuff tasted gawd-awful, but it felt great on this throat. He had just taken a sip when the Vulcan came for one of her regular visits.  
  
Your parents are very agreeable. They have made an extremely favorable impression on those crewmembers with whom they have had contact, T'Pol responded as she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.  
  
Trip beamed enthusiastically at her apparent approval. He bent his head to the straw to take another sip and surreptitiously began to stalk her fingers. T'Pol had initiated no physical contact since her first visit after their meld, but he usually managed to sneak his hand up on hers by the end of each of her visits. Sometimes their fingers just touched, sometimes they intertwined, but twice there had been full-fledged hand-holding before Phlox came and ended the visit.  
  
I suspect, however, that your parents dislike me. T'Pol's blunt and unexpected statement momentarily distracted him from his objective. He looked up in alarm and disbelief.  
  
Whaddya mean? Why would you think that? His parents had been nothing but complimentary of T'Pol in his presence. Then again, he reflected, his mom wouldn't say if she had a mouthful. Could it be that they _didn't_ like T'Pol? The thought depressed him profoundly.  
  
They address me differently than they do all the other members of the crew, she explained.  
  
Geez, what had they been calling her? Trip didn't know which upset him more: the possibility that his parents had been disrespectful to the woman he loved, or the idea that his mother, who had beat good manners into him from a young age—sometimes literally, was capable of rude behavior.  
  
I am the only member of the crew that they do not address using food-centered appellations or diminutives, T'Pol continued. 'Honey' and Sweetie' are those most often employed, although I have heard your father refer to Ensign Sato as Shortcake,' and yesterday, as they were preparing a dessert in the galley, your mother called Chef   
  
Chef let Mom in the galley? You're kidding! T'Pol gave this ridiculous suggestion the raised eyebrow it deserved. Damn! I knew she was good, but not _that_ good. Chef's never let anyone work with him in the galley before! Trip dedicated a few seconds of respectful awe to his mother's obvious superpowers, then returned his attention to T'Pol's concerns.  
  
Sorry, T'Pol. My folks don't call ya Sweetie' or Honey.' What _do_ they call you, then?  
  
They address me as Miss T'Pol.'  
  
Well, what's wrong with that? Trip demanded, somewhat relieved. They're bein' respectful, is all!  
  
Given that your parents seem to share your fondness for eating, I deduced that their practice of addressing individuals by the names of various comestibles is intended as a compliment or a sign of affection, T'Pol reasoned. That I have not been included in this practice seems to be a deliberate slight.  
  
Trip realized that T'Pol's feelings were hurt. She was getting all scientific in order to cover it up. How cute! His heart went out to her, even as he tried not to laugh.  
  
T'Pol, all my folks know about Vulcans is what I've been telling em in my letters, he replied soothingly. I can't remember how many times I mentioned you don't like usin' nicknames...how Vulcans think it's not logical to call someone by a name that isn't theirs. That's gotta be why they aren't givin' you food nicknames. He suppressed a chuckle at the thought of his mom calling T'Pol   
  
So you believe that they have been addressing me differently out of respect for Vulcan culture? T'Pol ventured.  
  
That's gotta be it! They like you, T'Pol, he assured her. I'd know if they didn't. My folks and I talk about everything.  
  
As T'Pol sat quietly, digesting what he had told her, Trip stealthily resumed his mission to capture her hand. He smiled to himself at how these little hunting expeditions had become the highlight of his days. Those few times that he had managed to hold her hand, he felt giddier than a teenager successfully copping a feel in a darkened movie theater. To distract T'Pol from his intent, he bent his head to take another sip of Phlox's nasty drink.  
  
You discuss everything with your parents? T'Pol asked curiously. Trip nodded as he sipped the nutrient solution. T'Pol chewed on this information for a moment. Then they are aware that we have engaged in sexual intercourse.  
  
Trip gagged and then spewed his drink all over her. 


	3. Father and Son

Title: Homecoming  
Author: Ragua  
Date: May 29, 2004  
Rating: PG-13 (Language)  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Paramount. I get no   
money—just havin' a little fun.  
Summary: Tucker family reunion causes less trouble for T'Pol than one would expect. It does stress Trip out, though. No nookie for that boy.  
Author's notes: Semi-sequel to   
Archive: Sure, why not. Just let me know****

HomecomingWhere we love is home,  
Home that our feet may leave,  
But not our hearts.  
—Oliver Wendell Holmes  
  
**Chapter 3: Like Father, Like Son**  
  
T'Pol found spending time with Mr. Tucker quite pleasant. Like his son, he had boundless curiosity and enthusiasm for discovery. He was fascinated with her Science Department, asking questions, wanting to know all the details, even offering intelligent and productive comments. He was so uncomplicated that T'Pol had forgotten that he, too, was a well-educated man, a scientist. Commander Tucker's engineering skills had certainly not materialized out of thin air.  
  
His interest in her profession also made conversing with him less stressful. As long as they had scientific subjects to discuss, she was less likely to commit the _faux pas_ of inadvertently bringing up an inappropriate topic, such as the one that had nearly caused Charles to choke to death in sickbay yesterday.  
  
She found herself watching Mr. Tucker closely as he fiddled with what he referred to as her Charles would no doubt be very much like this man in the years to come. She eyed the lanky height, the silver hair, and the ski slope nose thoughtfully. Would she be sharing her future with a man like this one?  
  
He startled her out of her reverie by stepping away from one of the monitoring stations with a guilty look. I'm sorry. You must be bored to tears, Miss T'Pol, he apologized.  
  
Not at all, she assured him. It is always fascinating to exchange information with a fellow scientist. His face glowed with delight at the simple compliment. In fact, I had intended to propose a visit to engineering, as well.  
  
She should have known that this invitation would produce a smile as heartbreakingly endearing as his son's. It was all she could do to maintain her stoic expression and gesture for him to precede her out of Sciences.  
  
#####  
  
Son, I think that little Vulcan gal is sweet on you.  
  
Trip nearly choked on his nutrient drink again, looking up at his father in astonishment. What was it with people saying the most outrageous things when he was trying to swallow this crap? It was even worse coming up than going down!  
  
In an effort to avoid a projectile coughing fit like the one that had left T'Pol damp and brought an angry Phlox out of his lair to cut their visit short, Trip managed to get this sip down the correct pipe. His father seemed put out by his reaction.  
  
Ya think I'm wrong? Mr. Tucker asked, disappointed. T'Pol had obviously won his father over.  
  
No, but— Trip couldn't continue. He was trying too hard to wrap his brain around his father's choice of words. He couldn't decide which seemed more absurd: referring to T'Pol as a little Vulcan gal or the phrase sweet on you, which he was sure had not been uttered in his presence since junior high. An image of T'Pol in pigtails, gazing at him moony-eyed, caused a guffaw that made his lungs and throat burn in protest.  
  
Seeing the concerned look on his dad's face and worried that he might call Phlox over, Trip made a patting motion with his good hand while he caught his breath. What makes you say that? he eventually managed.  
  
She's just been real great with your mom and me, his father was happy to expound. Showing us all over the ship. Making sure we have everything we need. Now he eyed his son dubiously. She doesn't seem anything like what you told us about Vulcans. She's...well, she's almost...friendly.  
  
Well, she's definitely lightened up some, since I first met her, Trip admitted defensively. But what makes you think—  
  
Hell, son, his father interrupted, She's been going out of her way for us. She's certainly not doing the same for Admiral Forrest or anyone else who came out here with us on the _Intrepid_, Mr. Tucker argued. I figure it's cause we're your mom and dad. And that means she likes you. He nodded his head once, forcefully, as if to punctuate this assertion.  
  
Trip smiled. Certainly sounds as if you like _her_.  
  
His father returned the smile, and for a moment the two men were near-perfect mirror images of each other. I sure do. She's smart and interesting. A real straight-shooter. And generous. Seems real strong-willed, too. Reminds me of your mama.  
  
Trip was extremely glad he hadn't been trying to drink anything when he heard _that_ statement. Of all the Freudian things to say! To his horror, his father continued.  
  
And damn, son, the curves on that girl—!  
  
Trip flushed red clear out to his ears. Oh gawd, where was Phlox? Wasn't it time for this visit to be over?!? 


	4. Mama Knows Best

Title: Homecoming  
Author: Ragua  
Date: May 29, 2004  
Rating: PG-13 (Language)  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Paramount. I get no   
money—just havin' a little fun.  
Summary: Tucker family reunion causes less trouble for T'Pol than one would expect. It does stress Trip out, though. No nookie for that boy.  
Author's notes: Semi-sequel to   
Archive: Sure, why not. Just let me know****

HomecomingWhere we love is home,  
Home that our feet may leave,  
But not our hearts.  
—Oliver Wendell Holmes  
  
**Chapter 4: Mama Knows Best**  
  
It was late in Enterprise's evening cycle when T'Pol answered her door comm. To her surprise, it was Charles' mother, holding what appeared to be a pie.  
  
Mrs. Tucker. Come in. T'Pol stepped back to allow her entry. Please, sit down. When Mrs. Tucker eyed her meditation cushions hesitantly, T'Pol hastened to push forward the desk chair. She then sat on the edge of her bunk and gazed curiously at her visitor.  
  
Without preamble, Mrs. Tucker began, I just wanted to thank you for making our stay here so nice. Charlie's been talking of nothing else but his visits to Engineering and the Science Department. Mrs. Tucker hesitated. And I noticed how you kept an eye on him when Malcolm was showing off the Armory. I appreciate that, too.  
  
T'Pol nodded. Commander Tucker expressed concern over his father's tour of the armory. He felt that Mr. Tucker displayed excessive interest in Lieutenant Reed's explosive devices. I merely followed the commander's suggestion that I accompany his father on the tour.  
  
He always did have more sense than his daddy, Mrs. Tucker smiled wryly.   
  
The two women sat in silence for a moment.  
  
I have not yet thanked you for your gift, T'Pol spoke up. Perhaps you would like to share some tea with me now?  
  
That would be nice, Miss T'Pol, Mrs. Tucker responded formally. Chamomile for me, please.  
  
T'Pol felt the older woman's eyes on her as she prepared the tea. Obviously, Mrs. Tucker had come to say something, and it did not involve thanking T'Pol for her hospitality. When they finally faced each other again, each with a cup of tea in hand like duelists at dawn, T'Pol decided that a direct approach might have merit.  
  
You have come to speak with me about a specific subject? she inquired.  
  
Mrs. Tucker was taken aback, but only for a moment. I guess I am. More like two or three subjects, although maybe it all boils down to the same thing when all is said and done. She suddenly became oblivious to T'Pol's presence as she pondered this thought.  
  
Her statements made little sense to the Vulcan. Apparently, Charles had inherited his chaotic thought process from his mother. The frown, furrowed brow, and tongue rolling around in the cheek were all disturbingly familiar to T'Pol. As she continued to gaze inquiringly at her guest, Mrs. Tucker abandoned her cogitation and took a deep breath.  
  
First, I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for my son. He was really broken up about Lizzie, her voice fell to a whisper. They were real close. Those neuropressure sessions sure helped him. They meant a lot to him. She looked at T'Pol, unsure what the reaction might be.  
  
Our time together meant a great deal to me as well, T'Pol admitted. I enjoyed...I enjoy Charles' company.  
  
Mrs. Tucker seemed momentarily startled at T'Pol's use of her son's name, but she continued. And Doctor Phlox told me what you did for Trip after the accident. He said you didn't have to do it. That it was dangerous, but you did it anyway. And it saved my son's life. I can't thank you enough for that.  
  
Mrs. Tucker's voice was steady, and her words were simple, but her thanks moved T'Pol more forcefully than anything she had experienced in all her years of interacting with humans. Not for the first time, T'Pol wondered what it must be like to be a mother—to feel so strongly, so passionately, so primally about another being.   
  
Your thanks are unnecessary. I...hold Charles in very high regard, T'Pol told her. I could never have remained idle when it was within my power to provide assistance.  
  
Mrs. Tucker's eyes glittered, but no tears fell. She and T'Pol looked at each other in perfect understanding.  
  
That brings me to the last thing I need to say to you, Mrs. Tucker spoke again. It's the most important thing. I wanted to apologize to you. For the way I've treated you. And with that she handed T'Pol the pie. Trip told me once that you liked pecan pie.  
  
Now T'Pol was truly confused. She sat up awkwardly, balancing the pie in one hand and her cup of tea in the other. Mrs. Tucker, you have treated me with nothing but respect. You have already presented me with an extremely thoughtful gift. T'Pol held up her cup of tea, as if to provide evidence. You have done nothing that requires an apology!  
  
Yes, Miss T'Pol, I have, Mrs. Tucker argued stubbornly. I was polite to you, but that was it. I didn't make any kind of effort to be friendly with you.  
  
Mrs. Tucker, please do not reproach yourself, T'Pol attempted to comfort her. As I suspect you are aware, Vulcans are not inclined to friendliness,' as humans define it. Your behavior to me was perfectly correct at all times.  
  
Oh honey, the older woman shook her head in disagreement. T'Pol would never have imagined how pleasing an illogical nickname could be. It may have been perfectly correct,' but it certainly wasn't right! After all you've done for my son, for my family, I treated you like a passing acquaintance. Mrs. Tucker seemed to feel she was guilty of a heinous crime.  
  
You're Vulcan, so you wouldn't have noticed the difference, she went on, shaking her head again. That's what makes it worse. I took advantage of that, but all the time, I knew what I was doing was wrong.  
  
Now T'Pol understood somewhat. Mrs. Tucker felt that she had behaved shamefully. As a Vulcan, T'Pol had noticed nothing untoward in the human's behavior. She would never have known, had not Charles' mother felt honor-bound to confess.  
  
T'Pol felt a strong sense of _deja vu_. Three years ago, Charles had felt similarly honor-bound to admit that he had read one of her private messages. He need not have done so—she would never have known—but his sense of honesty, his basic decency, prevented him from accepting the easy solution. Like his engineering skills, his integrity had apparently not materialized from thin air, either.  
  
Mrs. Tucker had not ceased her self-recrimination. I never went out of my way for you, the way you did for us...the way you did for my boy. I didn't even make you something homemade as a gift! This last offense seemed truly galling to her.  
  
You did not present Ensign Sato with a homemade gift, T'Pol reminded her.  
  
My son's not in love with Hoshi, Mrs. Tucker countered, eyeing T'Pol shrewdly.  
  
T'Pol blinked in surprise. How do you—What makes you think that Commander Tucker is in love with me? She felt disingenuous. She knew how Charles felt. He had told her himself. Yet somehow, an illogical part of her wanted to hear more evidence from his mother. How had she known?  
  
Mrs. Tucker shook her head again, but this time her face was lit by an engaging and somewhat sly grin. Oh, honey...  
  
#####  
  
Geez, T'Pol, I can't believe ya ratted me out!  
  
I beg your pardon? This was not the greeting that T'Pol had expected, particularly after having such promising interaction with his mother. Mrs. Tucker had visited for nearly two hours the night before, and T'Pol had to admit that she had enjoyed their conversation. It had been most illuminating.  
  
Ya told my mom about the swearin'! Charles accused.  
  
I did not, as you claim, rat you out,' Commander, T'Pol corrected him. I was merely curious as to why your mother takes offense when your father uses profanity. She noticed a glass with a straw on the tray table in front of him. She considered moving it to prevent a recurrence of the incidents of their previous meeting, but decided against it.   
  
She told me that it is improper for a male—or at least, one who is considered a gentleman'—to use profanity in the presence of a female, T'Pol continued. When I expressed ignorance of this taboo, she correctly deduced that the human males of my acquaintance do not keep to it. Now she eyed him blandly. It was only natural for her to follow the deduction to its logical conclusion: That, as one of the human males of my acquaintance, you yourself were guilty of violating this taboo.  
  
Use as much scientific language as ya want ta justify it, ya stool-pigeon. She was still in here at the butt-crack a' dawn, lecturing me about what a disgrace I am, cussin' in front of ladies! He scowled furiously, first at the nutrient drink, then at T'Pol.  
  
T'Pol raised an eyebrow at him. I suspect, Commander, that it is also improper for a gentleman' to make baseless accusations against a lady.' I will, however, confer with your mother to verify my suspicions.  
  
And with that, she turned and left.  
  
Trip squawked in indignation. Too late. She was gone.  
  
Without a sentient target to vent on, Trip turned his scowl back on the nutrient drink. _Sonofabitch!_ He loved his parents dearly, but since they'd arrived, he'd gotten very little hand-holding action. He felt like a dumb horny teenager again. And that period of his life had been bad enough the first time around. Why was he being forced to experience it again?!?  
  
If things didn't change soon, he was going to run screaming out the nearest airlock.   
  
#####  
  
In what was—he admitted to himself—a rather pathetic attempt to garner some comfort and commiseration, Trip recounted the tale of T'Pol's abrupt exit to his mother later that day. (It was a bit difficult. He had to contend with a mental image of T'Pol, telling him how illogical it was to discuss their conflict with the person who had been its catalyst.)  
  
As he spoke, he couldn't prevent a rising sense of frustration over their relationship—if it could really be called such a thing. I really love her, Mom, but it seems like we spend half our time fighting. Or at least arguing about something.  
  
That's good, his mother replied serenely.  
  
Trip was left speechless for a moment, when the expected maternal sympathy did not materialize. What the—? Good?!? How's that good?  
  
People in love should never get along _too_ well. Takes all the spice out of the relationship. Plus, it keeps em on their toes. They're less likely to take their sweetie for granted. She grinned wickedly and patted his knee.  
  
Trip rolled his tongue around in his cheek, eyeing his mother skeptically. It sounded like a load of crap to him, but that wasn't something you just blurted out to your mom. Especially when she might smack you for it. Still... You and Dad seem to be getting along pretty well lately. Need me to throw a wrench in the works, so you could get a little—  
  
Don't you sass me, boy! She went from serene to stern at Warp 10, narrowing her eyes and giving him the lips-pursed parrot-mouth of disapproval.  
  
No ma'am. Trip smirked. It wasn't often that he successfully yanked his mom's chain. He should have known from years of experience that the victory would be a hollow one.  
  
Just as quickly as it had come, his mother's stern look disappeared. I'll throw my own wrenches, thank you very much, honey, she rebuked mildly. A nostalgic look came over her face. Why, some of the best canoodling your father and I ever had came from making up after a fight, she reminisced. I remember that summer at Diamond Lake. We'd had a tremendous dust-up. You remember, sweetie? You kids couldn't figure out why we wouldn't come of of the water. I swear, your father—  
  
Trip's high-pitched shriek of panic brought Phlox to his bedside at a run. Once his savior arrived, Trip spluttered, I...I think I need some more of that stuff! My throat... A concerned Phlox hurried to comply, and soon Trip was sipping the foul nutrient solution as his mother watched in silent concern. However vomitous the stuff tasted, _anything_ had to be better than hearing the details of his parents' sex life!  
  
Trip glanced at her sideways, fearful that she might use his silence to continue the story. Noticing a glint in her eye, he paused, mid-sip. When he turned his head to look her full in the face, however, she gave him a wide-eyed innocent stare. Drink your medicine, baby, she said tenderly. It's good for you.  
  
Yes, ma'am, he obeyed, with no trace of a smirk this time.  
  
Damn these women. They were conspiring against him.  
  
#####  
  
So have you made it up with that son of mine? Mrs. Tucker asked T'Pol. They sat together in the Vulcan's quarters sharing another cup of tea—mint this time.  
  
Not yet, T'Pol answered. I wanted to consult with you first, on the length of time I should allow him to...'stew?' T'Pol looked to the human to see if she had correctly used the colloquialism. Mrs. Tucker nodded encouragingly. I was uncertain of the appropriate duration required for optimal   
  
Mrs. Tucker raised her eyes to the ceiling of T'Pol's quarters, tapping her forefinger on her mouth as she made a few calculations in her head. I'd say you can go see him tomorrow morning. I gave him quite a turn today, so he should be more than happy to see you so soon.  
  
The two women sipped their tea quietly, contentedly.  
  
I have been meaning to tell you, Mrs. Tucker, T'Pol eventually felt obligated to say, that I do not believe that the commander means any disrespect by using profanity in my presence,   
  
I know, honey, Charles' mother replied with a grin. But it never hurts to remind your man that you deserve respect and that you will always expect it from him.   
  
T'Pol opened her mouth to deny that Charles was her man, but stopped when confronted by Mrs. Tucker's knowing stare. Charles has always been most respectful to me, she affirmed instead.  
  
He damn well better be! his mother growled. When T'Pol raised an eyebrow at the profanity, Mrs. Tucker explained mildly, A little colorful language between us girls is fine. What the men don't know won't hurt them. Her eyes twinkled with that familiar combination of wiliness and innocence as she turned her attention back to her cup of tea. 


	5. Kiss and Make Up

Title: Homecoming  
Author: Ragua  
Date: May 29, 2004  
Rating: PG-13 (Language)  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Paramount. I get no   
money—just havin' a little fun.  
Summary: Tucker family reunion causes less trouble for T'Pol than one would expect. It does stress Trip out, though. No nookie for that boy.  
Author's notes: Semi-sequel to   
Archive: Sure, why not. Just let me know****

HomecomingWhere we love is home,  
Home that our feet may leave,  
But not our hearts.  
—Oliver Wendell Holmes  
  
**Chapter 5: Kiss and Make Up**  
  
As Mrs. Tucker had predicted, Charles was very pleased to see her the following morning. The first words from his mouth were an apology for his behavior the previous day.  
  
I think I'm getting a little tetchy being cooped up in here, he admitted ruefully. I didn't mean to take it out on you. He raised his eyes to hers appealingly.  
  
It is to be expected, T'Pol accepted his apology graciously. However, the doctor tells me that your recuperation has progressed to the point that you will be able to accompany your parents when they disembark at Jupiter Station tomorrow. You will be able to continue your rehabilitation at their home.  
  
Yeah, Phlox has been instructing my dad on all the medical gadgets they're going to need, Trip grinned affectionately. I think Dad's more excited about getting some new toys to play with than having me at home!  
  
Having spent considerable time with Mr. Tucker in the last week, T'Pol decided that this was probably an accurate assessment—at least now that Mr. Tucker knew that his son was well on his way to recovery.  
  
How about you? Charles asked her tentatively. What are your plans now?  
  
I will, of course, be obligated to report to the Vulcan Consulate, T'Pol admitted slowly. My reception there will determine my subsequent course of action. She frowned at the thought of what her reception might be.  
  
I wish I could be there with ya. To..you know...to back you up, if ya needed, Charles volunteered. Maybe you could put it off until... His voice trailed off as he gazed at her pensive face, unsure how she would react to his offer of support.  
  
Once again, T'Pol was moved by his sincerity, his unwavering loyalty. However, his proposal was most certainly not practical. While your presence would be...appreciated, I suspect that it would be problematic as well. When his face fell in disappointment, she attempted to explain further. You are not the most...diplomatic of humans, particularly when faced with Vulcans with whom you disagree.  
  
He sighed, acknowledging the truth of her statement. Yeah, Soval sure hates my ass.  
  
As a Vulcan, T'Pol corrected him sternly, Ambassador Soval hates neither your ass' nor any other part of your anatomy, Commander. Charles grinned sheepishly at the scolding.  
  
T'Pol continued. It is likely that I will face some type of censure from my colleagues. It is only logical, she added, as he scowled at the thought of those who might condemn her. You would most likely feel obligated to defend my actions. Your attempts to do so, might further...alienate my detractors.  
  
I'd do you more harm than good, he murmured, discouraged.  
  
It is a very distinct possibility, she agreed, relieved that he accepted her logic in a rational fashion.  
  
Will you keep me posted, then? On how it's going for you?  
  
Of course, Commander.  
  
And...when you get everything settled...will you come out to my folks' place for a visit? He issued the invitation haltingly, unsure of her, worried that she might refuse. My mom and dad would love to have you, he rushed to assure her. They know you're a vegetarian, so food wouldn't be a problem. But if you don't like the cooking, we could—  
  
Of course I will visit, Charles, she interrupted.   
  
He sat open-mouthed for a few seconds, surprised by her sudden acceptance. Then he let out a great _woof!_ of air and grinned, relieved that she had agreed and delighted at her use of his name.  
  
T'Pol opened her mouth to inform him that, in fact, his mother had already issued an invitation, which the Vulcan had accepted. Then she thought better of it. According to Mrs. Tucker, there were many instances where What the men don't know won't hurt them. Perhaps this was one of those situations?  
  
Suddenly she looked down. Charles had snared her hand and was industriously wrapping his fingers around hers. She lifted her gaze to his, raising an eyebrow. He grinned mischievously, looking extremely pleased with himself.  
  
Yes, T'Pol decided. This was definitely one of those situations. She squeezed his hand in return.  
  
_Score!_ Trip crowed to himself as he caressed her hand.  
  
This was definitely more like it. 


End file.
